


hijack my heart;

by sweetestsight



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Bank Robbery, Brief mentions of domestic abuse, F/F, Genderswap, Mentions of Violence, Polyamory, guns tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: Regina and Freddie rob a bank. It isn't the money that they're after.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Clog Factory! I love brainstorming with you guys and this wouldn't have happened without your encouragement. Love you!

Reggie flips open her compact mirror, examining her cheeks in the reflection. She looks good, her makeup still flawless from when she’d applied it ten minutes ago, lining her lips and eyes carefully in the rearview mirror. She powders her nose again regardless, the sponge sending tiny clouds of product in the air with each stroke.

“Nervous?” Freddie asks her from the passenger seat.

Reggie turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Of course not. You?”

“You don’t have to lie,” Freddie says levelly. “I can read you, doll. It’s written all over your face.”

Reggie shakes her head, examining her reflection one last time before flipping the mirror shut.

“It’s just another job,” Freddie says soothingly. “We’ve done it a dozen times now. You know how it goes. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s different this time,” Reggie tells her. “You know that.”

“Of course,” Freddie replies. “That’s why I know it’ll go off without a hitch. We’ve prepared too well for any other outcome.”

Reggie stares at her. Freddie stares right back, her eyes strikingly dark underneath mascara-lined lashes. She’s tied her hair back today, a messy knot of waves tucked below the brim of her charcoal-grey homburg. She’s wearing a suit to match: elegantly-draping trousers and a men’s vest pulled over the long sleeves of her blouse, the collar daringly popped and her throat glittering with pearls. She looks dashing and daring, a hundred and ten percent the stunningly beautiful woman that Reggie fell in love with.

It doesn’t matter where they go or what they do. It doesn’t really even matter how much either of them changes; whether Freddie is always quite so daring and Reggie always so hungry to claim a place in the world. She’ll follow her anywhere. She knows that.

That’s why she believes her.

She leans over, pressing her lips solidly against Freddie’s and feeling the other girl smile against her mouth. She keeps it sweet and chaste, solid like a promise, and when she pulls away Freddie’s eyes are crinkled with happiness.

Reggie opens the glove compartment, her fingers closing around the pearl grip of her revolver. She straightens the brim of her cloche, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, and reaches behind Freddie’s seat to pull one of the satchels from the back. 

“Let’s do this,” she says, opening her door. Freddie grins at her and follows.

The bank is just across the street. This part of the city is quiet in the mornings, and it’s one of the reasons that the two of them had chosen it in the first place. This far from the city center the crowds are limited, and errant police on patrol are few and far between.

That’s the way the two of them like it.

Freddie looks her in the eye and nods once as they push the brass doors open, the two of them walking side by side in perfect sync as always. Reggie raises her revolver in the air and fires a few shots into the ceiling, and the dozen or so patrons in the bank yell in surprise, ducking at the noise and turning to look at them.

Freddie pulls her tommy gun out of her satchel almost lazily, swinging it in a wide arc through the air. “Alright,” she yells, “This is a stick up, you know how this goes. Hands in the air!”

“On the ground,” Regina roars. She takes Freddie’s empty satchel as she passes her, her own still slung over her shoulder. She waves it at the crowd, walking through the patrons as they crouch quickly toward the floor. “Come on, sometime today, people! Get down!”

“I’d say it’s in your best interest to listen to her!” Freddie shouts behind her.

Regina’s eyes skirt over the row of tellers behind their marble desks, her eyes catching on an angular face and worried-looking hazel eyes. “You,” she says loudly, forcing an edge of steely dominance into her tone. “You’re going to open the vault for me.”

“Leave her alone,” one of the other tellers hisses.

Regina tilts her head at him, pointing the revolver in his direction. “Did I fucking speak to you?”

“I’ll go instead,” the man says.

“I don’t think so,” Regina says flatly. She lifts Freddie’s satchel, flinging it onto the teller’s table. He flinches at the sound. “You’re gonna go ahead and fill that up for me, got it?”

“Like hell,” he snaps.

“Another word and you’ll have my partner to deal with. I don’t think you want to lose your head over this, now do you? After all, it’s not even your money.”

He looks at her, his jaw clenched, and says nothing.

“Great,” Reggie says dryly. She reaches round the desk, grabbing the female teller by the elbow and pulling her roughly into her chest, tucking the barrel of the revolver under her chin. The woman gasps, a soft noise in Regina’s ear. Her cheek is soft against Regina’s own, her hip solid and warm beneath her hand. “Let’s go, pretty, shall we?”

“Easy,” the woman mutters under her breath.

Regina laughs loudly, mostly for show. “I like this one,” she announces, walking them backward toward the vault. “I think I’ll keep her.”

“You’re monsters,” the other teller shouts behind them.

The familiar sound of Freddie’s gun cocking echoes against the high marble ceiling even as the door of the vault opens beneath the hostage’s shaking hands. “Another word from you and you’re not going to like the outcome,” Freddie says boredly. “Pack the damn bag.”

Regina spares one last glance behind herself, but the room seems to be under Freddie’s control. The bank-goers are all lying face down on the floor, the teller quickly shoveling stacks of bills into Freddie’s satchel. Regina lets out a breath as she pushes her hostage forward and into the vault, away from the prying eyes of those in the main room.

“Alright, Bri?” Regina asks, her voice low.

The woman huffs, pushing the barrel of the gun away from her chin. “Did you have to be quite so rough?” she grumbles.

Regina turns her around with a hand on her hip, taking in her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Her work uniform consists of an emerald green skirt and matching blazer, but somehow she makes it look charmingly sweet rather than the drab getup it should be. It would be sweet anyway, if not for the darkness of her gaze and the flush across the top of her chest.

“You like it,” Regina says, pitching her voice low and rough.

Brianna rolls her eyes, her cheeks darkening. She opens her mouth for what will no doubt be a weak protest, but Reggie cuts her off with a kiss. Brianna hums high in her throat, her hands clutching at Regina’s waist and dragging her closer, and Regina smiles against her mouth as she ends the kiss in a playful bite that has Brianna inhaling sharply.

“I missed you,” Brianna whispers. “Both of you.”

“Yeah?” Reggie steps back, opening the satchel and turning to the stacks of bills lining the vault’s walls. “Let’s get the job done then, and you’ll never have to miss us again.”

Brianna grins at her, her entire face lighting up. She seems almost giddy as she grabs a few handfuls of money with shaking hands and tosses them into the bag.

“How’s the husband, then?” Reggie asks as she grabs a few stacks of her own.

Brianna snorts. “He wants me to cut my hair. He says it makes me look unkempt. I wanted to ask my mum about it but he won’t let me see her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Swine. Did he hurt you?”

“Not since you and I last spoke.”

Regina pauses to look at her, but the shadows are absent from Brianna’s face. She looks excited instead, eagerly packing the bag and pausing to give Reggie a sunny smile.

“Swine,” Regina mutters under her breath. “He’s lucky we’re not killers, you know.”

“It hardly matters,” Brianna says honestly. “I’ll be rid of him soon, thanks to you.”

“Oh, mark my words. You’ll be far away in no time.”

“I look forward to it,” she replies. “Where will we go first?”

“It’s up to you,” Regina says with a smile.

They work quickly, stopping when the bag is around halfway full. Regina doesn’t want it to be any heavier than it already is; they’re banking on a quick getaway.

“That’s good, love,” she murmurs, latching it closed and standing. “Ready?”

“Do your worst,” Brianna laughs.

Regina grins at her. She slings the satchel over her shoulder before once again pulling the taller girl roughly against her own body and marching her out of the vault, one hand wrapped around both of her wrists and the other holding the gun beneath her chin. Freddie meets her eyes across the room, nodding to her as she picks her own satchel up off of the teller’s desk.

“Thanks for this,” she tells him casually, her tommy gun still propped up on her hip. “You’ve been a real help.”

“I did what you want,” the teller replies. “Let her go.”

“Who? This one?” Freddie asks innocently, gesturing to Brianna with her gun. Brianna makes a show of looking terrified, and Regina would be tempted to applaud the performance if her hands weren’t full. “I don’t think so. We need help carrying this cash, after all.”

“Please, Paul,” Brianna cries theatrically. “Just do what they say.”

Regina lightly squeezes her wrist in comfort. Brianna turns in her grip, managing to tap two of her fingers against the side of Regina’s thumb, and Regina lets out a breath. She’s okay. This is going to work out.

“How about this,” Regina says flatly. “How about you give us a good ten minutes before you get Scotland Yard on the line, and in return we don’t blow her head off here and now. Would that work for you, Paul? Do you think you could manage that?”

Wide-eyed, Paul nods.

Regina smiles at him sweetly. “Great. Thanks, love.” She starts toward the brass doors, Freddie backing out of the bank behind her.

“Ladies,” Freddie yells, “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you today.”

Regina takes her first breath of fresh air, Freddie’s back warm against her own, and then just like that they’re out of the building.

They don’t waste time crossing the street to the car. It’s a flashy thing, a Bentley in a lovely shade of yellow. It had been a calculated move, of course.

“It’s good to see you, beautiful,” Freddie says to Brianna as she loads the satchels into the boot. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Brianna replies, her eyes bright. “It went better than I thought it would.”

“We’re not done quite yet,” Regina murmurs. “Sixth and Pine, right?”

“Three blocks south,” Freddie confirms. She leans forward and kisses Regina softly as Brianna climbs into the driver’s seat. “We’ll be waiting.”

“Not if I get there first,” Regina says with a grin.

Freddie smiles back, her eyes crinkling. She climbs into the passenger seat, the engine revving as Brianna starts the car, and pulls the tommy out again just to aim it at Brianna for the sake of the odd onlooker. “Good luck Reg,” she says.

“Likewise.”

The car peels away from the curb, swerving into traffic and racing out of sight.

Regina turns and ducks back into the alley. Her orange cloche is the first thing to go, and then it’s her long blue coat. She dumps both in a dumpster as she passes it, brushing the wrinkles out of her modest grey skirt and unfastening her hair from the neat bun she’d had it in. Blond locks fall down around her face, and she runs her fingers through them a few times as she walks. A pair of glasses pulled from a pocket complete the ensemble, and by the time she emerges from the other side of the alley she looks like a different person.

She crosses a few more streets, weaving through alleys and around corners, before she finally reaches a parking garage beside the railroad tracks. At this time of day it’s almost completely empty, save for the nondescript black town car tucked away in the back. She ducks inside the garage and approaches it, digging through the pocket of her skirt for her keys.

She pauses beside the driver’s door as she digs through the key ring. She thought she had a spare key, seeing as she and Freddie figured she’d probably be the first one to reach this spot. Maybe not, though; now that she’s looking she can’t—

“Stop right there,” a voice says behind her, deadly calm. It’s punctuated by the sound of a gun cocking.

She freezes.

She’d left her revolver beside the satchel, tucked away in the trunk of the other car. She thought she wouldn’t need it at this point. She hadn’t expected this, and why would she? She hadn’t been followed.

She didn’t think so, anyway.

“Hands where I can see them,” the voice says.

Regina sighs. She holds her hands in the air, keys still clutched in her hand. “How’d you find me, Joannie?”

“Turn around, nice and slow.”

She smiles to herself and does so, resting her hands behind her head and settling on the balls of her feet. “Hi, honey,” she says when she meets the other woman’s eyes.

Joannie looks less than amused. Her neatly manicured nails clutch the grip of a .45, and Regina knows how well she can use it. She’s seen Joannie in action enough times to know not to doubt her, least of all for her sweet demeanor.

And she does look sweet today, pistol aside: blush is gently dabbed onto her cheeks, her lips painted a light pink. She’s wearing a short-sleeved green dress that brings out her eyes, but the hemline is daringly short and the long string of pearls around her neck only seems to make the cut seem even lower. A rather ornate cloche completes the ensemble.

“Did you get all dressed up just for me?” Regina asks with a wry smile.

Joannie’s jaw ticks. “No talking. Is there a phone in your car?”

“How am I supposed to tell you if I can’t talk?” Regina says innocently. “Seriously, what are you dressed up for?”

“I was on my way to church. I overheard a police call on my father’s radio. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“You were going to church? Dressed like that?” Regina says skeptically, eyeing the hem of her dress. “You were always quite the rebel, weren’t you?”

Joannie rolls her eyes. “What did I say about not talking?”

“No, really, Joannie. When are you going to admit that this stuffy, stuck-up life isn’t for you?”

“Do I need to shoot you to get you to shut your fucking mouth?” Joannie snaps, her other hand steadying the bass of the gun’s grip. “Do you understand that you’ve ruined my life? That you’re destroying my family, that you’re turning my whole life inside out?”

Regina licks her lips; oh, but they’ve played this game before, Joannie and her. “That won’t be a problem for much longer. Turn around and walk away. We’re planning on disappearing. Your needs and my needs are the same.”

Joannie shakes her head. “No. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let you disappear.”

“Why not?” Regina asks her. “Because it’ll ruin your father’s career? Because if he doesn’t catch us then he won’t get that big promotion he’s been awaiting for so long? You know he couldn’t find us if he had a map and a compass leading straight to the spot.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Joannie says.

“Really?” Regina replies, raising her eyebrows. “Then why is it that his nineteen-year-old daughter managed to do it on her way to church, and yet I don’t see him and the rest of the cavalry anywhere nearby? Face it, Joannie. You’re the best of them and they don’t even want you on board.”

“It’s not like that,” she mutters.

“You know what I think?” Regina says, lowering her voice. “I think you don’t really want us to get caught. Secretly you like having us around. I think that if we go, the one exciting thing in your life will be taken away from you. You’ll miss us too much.”

Joanna snorts at that. “That’s what you think? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Regina replies. She tilts her head. “I think the part you’ll never tell anyone is that the fact you’re the only one who can ever catch up to us kind of turns you on.”

Joanna laughs, looking away even as she steadies her grip on the gun. “Your ego is getting ahead of you, Reggie.”

“Say it’s not true, then.”

Joanna looks her in the eye, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “I can’t do that.”

“Then let us go,” Regina says, taking a step closer to her.

“I can’t do that, either,” Joanna sighs.

Regina studies her: the circles beneath her eyes, the slight upturn to her mouth, the rebellious buttons undone at her collar. She isn’t sure how many times they’ve met in places just like this one. This must be the third dark carpark they’ve found each other in, and it always goes the same. Joannie tries to catch her. Regina manages to escape. Secretly, she wishes that she was still in Joannie’s hold.

“Do you understand what they’ll give me if I manage to catch you?” Joannie asks her quietly. She shifts her grip on the pistol again, her hands restless.

Regina takes another step closer, lowering her hands gradually to shoulder height. “They won’t give you a thing, Joannie,” she says, looking her right in the eye.

Joannie shakes her head. “This is my chance,” she murmurs. “You know how hard it is. If I can do something in this world—if I can help my father achieve something—”

“He’ll just be jealous that you outdid him,” Regina finishes for her. “You know that.”

“They might offer me a job,” she insists.

Regina shakes her head. She can feel her face falling; can see the same fall in Joannie’s eyes. “Is that what you want? To be a detective? To make your father proud? You know as well as I do that the only way a daughter makes her father proud in this world is by marrying young and not being a burden.”

“Maybe not,” Joannie argues quietly. “They’ll have to do something for me, if I bring you in. They’ll have to thank me somehow. I’ll be recognized for what I did.”

“You deserve recognition,” Regina breathes. “You deserve appreciation, but will it be worth it to see me go away? To see us go away?”

Joannie looks away, the pistol lowering in her grip.

“It’s going to be the death penalty for us after this, you know,” she continues softly. “You’ve seen the wanted posters. They’re trying to make a case for it to get us hanged, and even if we get out of that we’ll still be in prison for life. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Joannie whispers, turning to look at her with a fury that takes Regina aback.

Regina reaches up slowly to close her hand around the barrel of the gun, pulling it to the side so that it’s no longer aimed her way. Joannie’s grip on it is practically nonexistent, and she lets Reggie do it without even a protest.

“Screw what they can give you,” Regina murmurs. “Fuck it. I can give you something so much better.”

“I want their respect.”

“I can give you your freedom.”

Joannie watches her lips as they form the words, her eyes dark and focused.

“Come away with me,” Regina says. “Let us take you away. We’ll give you the whole world. You won’t be under anyone’s control anymore. You can do what you want, be with who you want, buy and wear what you want—”

“I can’t,” Joannie murmurs. “I can’t, or they’ll kill me.” She reaches into the pocket of her dress, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Just let me—we’ll figure something out. We’ll reduce the sentence and then _you’ll_ be free. You won’t even be a wanted woman anymore.”

Regina shakes her head ruefully. “You know they can’t do that. They don’t have the power to. You don’t, either.”

“If they find out I let you get away they’ll be furious,” Joannie murmurs.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to make quite the daring escape then, won’t I?” Regina breathes, moving into Joannie’s space.

She takes the handcuffs from out of her grip as gently as she can before tangling their fingers together. Her other hand guides Joannie closer by her jaw. When she slots their lips together Joannie sighs against her cheek blissfully.

It’s not the first time she’s kissed her. It’s not the first time she’s found herself in this position, but somehow it’s as earth-shattering as all of the times before. Joannie feels right in her arms, warm and solid and perfect, and the hunger with which she kisses always sends Regina reeling.

Joannie’s free arm is thrown around Reggie’s neck, the other girl hauling her closer, and Regina scrambles to focus as she walks her backward toward the wall. She makes the loveliest noise when Regina tugs at her hair, and then again when her back hits the rails lining the side of the garage. Regina squeezes her fingers to sooth her, sucking eagerly at her lip before trailing her mouth down to the line of her jaw.

“God,” Joannie breathes, and when Reggie opens her eyes slightly it’s to see that Joannie’s head is tilted back, her mouth hanging open as she gasps for air. Her cheeks are red in a way that has nothing to do with her blush, and Reggie can’t help but lean up to kiss one of them before trailing her lips across the sensitive spot that she knows exists just below Joannie’s ear. Joannie keens and tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of Reggie’s neck.

And then she freezes at the sound of a soft click.

Reggie leans back, her head still spinning and her heart racing. Joannie’s lips are bruised a dark red, her eyes still hazy, and she frowns at Regina in confusion as she tries to move her own arm.

Her arm, which is now handcuffed to the rails lining the wall.

Her eyes flick down to Reggie’s mouth and then up again, betrayal and hurt written all over her face.

“Sorry,” Regina breathes. “I can’t risk all of our lives, though. I just can’t. Tell them that I overpowered you, alright?”

Joannie’s hand hooks around the back of her neck, keeping her in place. It’s not a hard enough grip to hurt, and Reggie could get out if she wanted to; that more than anything is what has her pausing.

“You did overpower me,” Joannie accuses. “All that just to handcuff me to a bannister?”

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Reggie says, and she can’t fight back a tiny smile. “You know I’d kiss you anyway, right? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Joannie. I’d kiss you all day long if you gave me the chance to.”

“You’re talking out of your ass,” Joannie snorts.

“Try me,” Reggie says, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her mouth.

Joannie bites her lip.

Tires squeal in the distance, and then all at once the Bentley is swerving into the garage and coming to a stop beside the town car. Behind the wheel, Brianna is grinning as if she’s just won a race.

“Who’s she, then?” Joanna asks. “A hostage? Maybe you do deserve to be locked up for good.”

“Please,” Reggie says as Freddie and Brianna climb out of the car. “Does she look very hostage to you?”

“Joanna Deacon,” Freddie calls from across the car park. Brianna turns to look, and her eyes go wide.

“It’s alright, Bri,” Reggie says.

“Who’s this?” Brianna asks her.

“Joannie’s the daughter of a detective,” Freddie says. “A big hotshot at Scotland Yard. Isn’t that right, Joannie?”

Joannie huffs. “You’re really going to lump yourself in with them?” she asks Brianna, tugging against her handcuff. “An accomplice to these two morons?”

“They’re giving me a good deal,” Brianna says, her eyes wide. “A way to escape my husband, my father, my boss…it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“They can’t give you everything,” Joannie says.

“You’re a detective’s daughter doing a detective’s work,” Brianna tells her. “You’re not the only woman in London looking for a way to be free. Trust me. They can give me everything I need.”

Freddie grabs the two satchels from the Bentley, unlocking the back door of the town car and piling the money inside. “It’s not that complicated, Joannie,” she calls. “You keep thinking we have ulterior motives. We don’t.”

“It sure looks like you do,” Joannie replies. “You’ve only got two bags there. They don’t even look to be full. The robbery was a ruse, wasn’t it?” She gestures at Brianna. “You were really after her the whole time.”

“Of course we were,” Regina says. “She asked us for our help. This was all prearranged. We made it look like she’s a hostage so that in the off chance that we get caught she won’t be labelled an accomplice.” She pauses, raising her eyebrows. “I hope you won’t blow that for us.” 

Joannie shakes her head. “You’re crazy, the lot of you.”

“Not crazy enough.” The car door slams behind her as Freddie settles in the backseat. Brianna takes one more look at Joannie before climbing into the passenger side. “Hey,” Regina says to Joannie, her voice low. “I read in the paper that you’re engaged. Is that true?”

“It’s none of your damn business,” Joannie grunts.

“It was in the paper,” Reggie says pointedly, raising her eyebrows. “Are you happy? You love him?”

Joannie looks at her from under her eyelashes, her gaze fierce.

“Does he love you the way you deserve?” Reggie asks her.

“He’s a decent man,” Joannie says.

“Do you sigh when you kiss him?” Reggie asks under her breath. “Does he make you feel free?”

Joannie doesn’t answer. Her gaze softens momentarily, her eyes falling to Regina’s mouth.

Regina smiles sadly. “When’s the wedding?”

“Autumn,” Joannie says. “September twelfth.”

“That’s a Sunday,” Regina says, and Joannie nods. “Great. Expect me to be there on the eleventh.”

Joannie frowns at her, her eyes wide.

Regina just smiles at her before turning toward the car. “I’ll be seeing you, doll,” she calls over her shoulder.

“When they catch you and lock you up for good,” Joannie calls after her. Regina doesn’t think she imagines the wobble in her voice.

“They won’t catch me,” Regina retorts with a sunny grin. “You know that. You’re the only one that ever can. You ever decide you want your freedom, you come find me, alright?”

Joannie shakes her head. “Be careful, Reg.”

Regina grins to herself as she climbs into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Freddie passes her the key wordlessly, and the engine starts with a satisfying rumble. Within moments they’re driving out of the parking garage, leaving Joannie and the yellow Bentley behind.

“Think she’ll be okay?” Freddie asks quietly.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Regina replies. “All the police in the city are looking for that car. When they find it they’ll find her, too.”

“Do you think she’ll turn me in?” Brianna asks hesitantly.

Regina glances at her. Her hands are resting in her lap, her fingers fidgeting restlessly. “No,” Regina tells her quietly. “No, I don’t think she will.”

“She’s just like you and me, darling,” Freddie supplies. “And Reg, for that matter. She’s not dangerous, she’s just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of whatever life has in store for her,” Freddie shrugs, looking out the window as the streets pass by. “Of getting married at nineteen years old and having a baby every year until she dies in childbirth; of being tied down to a husband who doesn’t love her; of leaving no lasting mark on this world other than her sons and daughters.”

“For some people that’s enough,” Brianna murmurs.

Regina snorts humorlessly. “Not for her. Not for us. No, she won’t turn you in, Bri. Believe me. She wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You trust her that much?”

“She’s been chasing us too long without catching us. It’s not for lack of opportunity, either. No, I trust her. She’ll want to keep you safe just as much as we do.”

Brianna lets out a slow breath, relaxing in her seat. Her hand inches across the gearshift to settle across Regina’s own, and Regina doesn’t hesitate before tangling her callused fingers with Brianna’s slender ones.

“Where are we off to, then?” Freddie asks from the backseat. “We’ve got a full tank of gas, a brand new car, what looks to be about two million pounds in cash…”

“I don’t know,” Regina replies with a smile. “We haven’t lived off the grid for a while now, have we? Bri, what do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Brianna muses, a grin lighting up her face. “Somewhere warm.”

“And then?”

“Somewhere beautiful.”

“What about both at once?” Freddie asks.

“Yeah,” Brianna laughs. “Yeah, that would work.”

“Got it,” Freddie muses. “So early summer somewhere warm and beautiful, and in August I was thinking maybe Greece. How about that?”

“Sounds good to me,” Regina grins.

“After that it’s your pick, Reggie,” Freddie adds.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d have to think it over.”

“There are a lot of choices,” Freddie says , her tone bland and debonair, and Brianna laughs again. “Malta, perhaps? Italy is lovely in Autumn as well.”

Regina smiles wryly. As if Freddie knows. She’s never even left the country. “Well,” she muses. “I might have some idea.”

“Oh?”

“Mmh. What are we doing on September eleventh?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for guns and mentions of shooting during Regina's section!

She’ll always remember the day she’d met Freddie.

It had been hot in the summer of 1920; it had been too hot, and she wasn’t quite used to it. The world, still recovering from the grips of the war and the influenza, had approached the heat with a kind of tenacity and hunger that she’d never before experienced. Leisure had returned, as had indulgence. The summer of 1920 had felt like a rebirth.

Her family had gone to Brighton that year for the first time in ages. Her mother had forgone a corset, something that had seemed scandalous to Joannie at the time, and that had contributed to the feeling of newness, too. There were new foods, new experiences, new clothes, new people. Her parents had taken Julian to the pier. There were new smiles.

She’d stayed behind at the hotel and settled on the square outside, shaded by a large umbrella, the hem of her skirt fluttering in the wind. God, but at least there was wind. It was practically scorching out, and the cup of lukewarm coffee from which she was sipping did little to fight the fatigue caused by the heat. Across the square two small children were playing in a fountain, despite the glares from onlookers. She had half a mind to join them.

She turned back to the scientific journal set out on the table in front of her—one she’d pilfered from her father’s stash, which to her annoyance was far drier than she’d hoped—and plowed her way through a few more lines. She was just getting back into the rhythm of reading when the chair across the table from her rattled its way across the cobblestones, yanked out by a gloved hand.

“Is this seat taken?” a charmingly sweet voice asked. Joannie looked up.

The girl wore what must have been the pinnacle of fashion, in some far-distant place that Joannie had never been. She had to assume so, anyway. The baggy waist and loose hem of her dress hadn’t quite reached the streets of London yet, and in this heat the fine white gloves surely stood out.

“No, though the table is,” Joannie replied.

The girl tossed her head, flipping her dark hair out of her eyes. “By someone wanting company, no doubt? You look lonely, darling.”

“I wouldn’t say lonely. I’m just alone.” She closed her paper, keeping one finger between the pages.

The girl smiled at her sweetly and sat down. She folded her gloved hands neatly against the wooden top, and it gave Joannie the opportunity to note that what she’d originally thought was a creamy silk was actually delicate lace, the stitches so tiny they were practically indiscernible to the eye. They hugged her wrists, the ring finger of her right hand decorated with a sizable crystal, somehow modest and showy at the same time.

“Like something you see, dear?” the girl asked.

“I’ve seen you before.” Joannie hadn’t planned on saying it, but all at once she knew it was true.

The girl sent her a tiny smile, her eyes carefully blank. “No, I don’t know how you would’ve.”

“I saw you yesterday,” Joannie insists. “Right here, in this very square.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You were getting arrested.”

The girl _did_ smile at that, and this time it crinkled her very dark, very warm eyes. “Oh. Perhaps that was me.”

“Perhaps? What, so you’re not sure?”

“It’s been a long weekend,” the girl said smoothly.

“It’s Thursday.”

“Hmm. You seem much too focused for a woman on a vacation.”

“We all prefer to relax in different ways.”

“And sitting here, day in, day out, glued to that paper every hour—that’s your preference?” The girl leaned closer. “I could show you a _really_ good time, you know.”

Joannie raised her eyebrows, delicately picking up her demitasse. “Oh, yes. Something that would get me landed in jail sounds like a _really_ good time.”

“Who says it would land you in jail?”

“So that wasn’t you in the square, then?”

“I never said that.”

“So it was.”

The girl laughed in delight, shaking her head lightly. “If it was me then why would they let me out the next day?”

“Not sure,” Joannie said blandly. She took a sip of her coffee, managing not to wince at the bitter taste. “Though if they let you out within twenty-four hours I doubt that it was a _really good time._ ”

“Yeah?” the girl murmured. “Come out with me tonight. You can decide for yourself.”

Joannie considered it. She really did. In that moment, it felt like the weight of her entire life—the war, the fear, the pile of books stolen from her father’s library, the tight grip of fabric against her ribcage—all of it was doubling back on itself and pressing down on her. The heat of the summer brought the first wind that ever filled her lungs, and with it came this girl who had finally offered her a chance to be free; to have _fun_.

She considered it, but she didn’t accept the offer. And then, two days later, she rounded a corner and saw the girl’s face printed across a wanted poster, and she knew she never could. 

The first time she met Regina had been a little different.

She knew Freddie Bulsara was in town, though she couldn’t say exactly how it was that she knew. Murmured conversations heard from her father’s office, maybe. Familiar faces on wanted posters, the smell from the coffee roastery down the street, the flash of raven hair ducking into an alley. Maybe it was intuition or maybe it was something more. There was no way to be sure.

She simply knew, and that was enough.

It was nearly Christmas and she was laid up with a flu. In all honesty it was nothing, at least to her; bad memories from October of 1918 had her mother bustling to and fro and sending the whole house into a panic. Joannie could hardly blame her, really. She carried those memories as closely as anyone else in the family did, but that didn’t change the fact that she was hardly an invalid.

It took her a long few days to prove that fact and insist that her family not throw away their first chance at a Christmas vacation since 1915. After nearly hours of arguing they’d finally listened, leaving Joannie home alone. She was supposed to be alone, anyway.

She was awoken on December 23rd at three in the morning by a loud bang.

Her eyes snapped open. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, her heart pounding as she strained to listen for another sound. It was just as she was about to settle back in and try to fall asleep once more that she heard it: an almost imperceptible shift, as if someone had taken a step in another room.

She held her breath.

The sound of the bad floorboard behind her father’s desk suddenly creaking nearly made her jump out of her skin. Before she could tell herself she’d imagined it she heard it again, and then there was the dull scraping sound of a window being shut.

Silently, she pulled back her quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her robe in the dark and pulling it around her shoulders. She’d left her bedroom door slightly open, thinking that she wouldn’t be disturbed; she could only be grateful for it when she was able to pull the door open all the way on silent hinges and make her way down the hall, the carpet absorbing her footsteps as she expertly avoided the creaky spots.

Down the hall she could hear papers being shuffled.

There was a gun in the bureau in the hallway. It was an old one that her dad kept as a piece of memorabilia more than anything; she inched the drawer open as slowly as she could, just enough that she could fit the revolver through the gap. The grip was cold and the weapon was heavy in her hand. She tilted it in the low light, checking that it was loaded just as her father had taught her before pressing the cylinder back into place. It clicked softly despite her caution.

The papers stopped shuffling briefly. She froze, but they resumed a moment later.

She leaned around the doorway, peering in. She couldn’t see her father’s desk from here, let alone the person who was apparently rifling through it. She let out a slow breath, her heart racing as she adjusted her grip on the gun one more time.

In one movement she rounded the corner, her foot hitting a squeaky board as she did. The figure before the window turned around immediately, raising their own weapon and pointing it in her general vicinity. They didn’t have the advantage of the light, she noted grimly.

“Drop it,” she said, her voice stronger than she was expecting, “and step away from the desk.”

“You’re the one staring down the barrel of a gun,” the intruder replied, and Joannie realized with a brief burst of shock that it was a woman. “I don’t think you get to be making the demands.”

Joannie stepped forward enough that the moonlight from the window caught the silver of the revolver, cocking it as she went.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah,” she said.

“Step away,” Joannie repeated. “Put the gun down.”

“Why would I do that?”

Joannie huffed. “Put the gun down or I’ll shoot you, how does that sound?”

The woman laughed softly, shaking her head. “Listen, love,” she started.

All at once, a familiar tickle started in Joannie’s lungs.

She turned to wheeze into her shoulder, hunching slightly when she couldn’t catch her breath. Dimly she noticed the woman’s gun dipping slightly, the barrel pointed more toward the desk than toward her, but Joannie could hardly find any satisfaction in it when she was still trying to draw a full breath. She hacked into her elbow again, holding her gun one-handed to keep her aim true.

“You alright there?” the woman asked, perplexed.

Joannie nodded, her eyes squeezed shut. “One moment,” she wheezed.

“Need any water?”

“Shut up.” She coughed one last time, fighting to catch her breath as she straightened to her full height. “You’re not off the hook.”

“It sounds like you should really be lying down right now. I can’t believe—did they leave you alone?”

“What?” Joannie asked, squinting.

The woman’s gun was practically forgotten in her grip as she gestured wildly. “They all left town. I thought the house would be empty.”

“You thought wrong,” Joannie snarled. “That makes you a spy, you know, and a shitty one at that.”

“So you _are_ part of the family,” the woman mused. “Let’s see. You’re certainly not Mal Deacon. I’ve seen his ugly face before and believe me, you’re way too pretty.”

“Watch it.”

“You’re too young to be the wife,” the woman continues, leaning back to sit in the desk chair. “You’re what, eighteen? Nineteen? You can’t be any older than I am. That makes you the daughter, doesn’t it? Joannie,” she adds, shaping the word as if she’s trying to taste each syllable.

“It’s Joanna. Don’t sit.”

“So they leave town, they leave you here…” she trails off, leaning back in her seat. The moonlight catches on her face, casting her in blue and purple, and for the first time Joannie can take in how strikingly beautiful she is; her eyelashes are almost ridiculously long, fanning out dark and heavy against her cheeks, and her charmingly small mouth purses as she thinks it over. “What kind of person would in their right mind leave behind someone like you?”

“I’m sick,” Joannie grunts, and her lungs ache and tickle again as if to prove it. She muffles a cough into her shoulder.

“They should be taking care of you,” the woman says earnestly, her voice suddenly sad.

Joannie shrugs. “That’s not your problem.”

“What is?”

“I am. Get the fuck up.”

The woman squints. “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“Try me.”

“Listen, I’m just looking for something, okay? Maybe we can help each other out here.”

Joannie laughed. “How on earth can you help me?”

“I can save you a cleaning bill,” the woman offers, stroking a hand down the fine cloth of the desk chair. “I heard getting blood out of satin is a real chore. Now, I’m just looking for a little information, alright? Don’t tell me you don’t pore over Mal’s case files while he’s away.”

Joannie grits her jaw, saying nothing.

“Right,” the woman says, leaning forward. “I’m looking for some information about a woman named Regina Taylor.”

Joannie shifts on her feet, looking the woman over. “Why?”

“She’s an associate of mine. She’s run into some trouble. I want to know if your father knows how to find her.”

“She’s a wanted woman. How would he know that?”

“I’m sure he has his ways, doesn’t he? He’s been chasing her. He must have some sort of lead.”

“You’re lying,” Joannie says flatly.

“Me?” the woman asks.

“Yes, you. You’re lying. You think I wouldn’t know?” she tightens her grip on the gun. “I read that file last night. Taylor is wanted for seven armed robberies across the UK, along with six burglaries in which she jimmied open a second floor window before walking out through the front door.” Joannie nods at the window behind the desk, and the woman smiles softly. “Blond hair, blue eyes, petite frame. It’s not some grand mystery, Taylor.”

Regina leans back in her chair, grinning. “Call me Reg.”

“Why are you looking for that information? What, you want to read your own case file so you can break your own habits? You don’t need the file for that.”

“Are they that obvious?” Regina shrugs.

Joannie rolls her eyes. “Stop driving the same car to every job. It doesn’t matter what the plates are. They still know to look out for a yellow Bentley. And for the love of god, get a new safe house. They’ve narrowed it down to Cornwall.”

“Oh, that’s very narrow,” Regina says sarcastically. “How do you know that—”

The ever-present ache in her lungs makes itself known again. She gasps, doubling over again before coughing hard into her elbow. Her skin prickles with cold all at once even as sweat beads at her temples.

“Jesus,” Regina hisses, rounding the desk. “What’s wrong with you?”

She lowers the gun as she continues to wheeze, her throat burning. Her entire body is burning, really; the room is too hot and too cold all at once. All she wants to do is get back in bed and curl up under her quilts.

“Hey,” Regina murmurs in her ear, suddenly in her space. She rubs her palm along Joannie’s sweaty back. “Come on. You’re alright. Get it out.”

Joannie gasps one final time, wincing as it makes her lungs burn. She takes a moment to just breathe.

“What is it?” Regina asks softly.

“The flu,” Joannie gets out. Regina’s face immediately falls into something like devastation, and Joannie sighs. “Not that flu. God. I’m just a little sick.”

“It doesn’t sound little,” Regina mutters. “I can’t believe they seriously left you like this.”

“They didn’t,” Joannie argues. “I’m fine.”

“You’re absolutely not,” Regina gripes. Her arm slips under Joannie’s, her skin deliciously soft and cool to the touch. “For god’s sake, you’re burning up. Don’t you have any aspirin?”

“In the bathroom,” Joannie mutters. Her legs feel weak, and she’s much too grateful for Regina’s solid frame pressed against her own. “It’s fine, you don’t—I’m supposed to be holding you at gunpoint. Let go.”

“I’m not gonna drop you so you can hold me at gunpoint again, you idiot,” Regina huffed. “Look at you. You’re probably seeing two of me.”

Joannie was seeing three. She decided not to point that out.

“Come on, where’s your room? You can hold me at gunpoint some other time. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Joannie gestured down the hallway. “Next time I’m gonna shoot you,” she said seriously.

“Noted. I’ll hold real still and everything.”

“And you can’t keep breaking into detectives’ apartments,” Joannie continued. “That’s a rookie mistake. You’re gonna get caught.”

“Thought you wanted me to get caught?”

Joannie frowned. She did. She definitely did.

She’s pretty sure she did.

“Come on, lay down,” Regina said, pushing her down onto her bed.

She wanted criminals to go to jail. She was a law-abiding daughter of a detective. She supported a reduction in crime rates. Bad men got as bad men deserved.

Was it because Regina wasn’t a man? Was that it? Or was it because she seemed somehow too alive—too vibrant, too _something—_ to be locked away in prison?

Joannie was horribly biased.

A cool cloth was pressed against her forehead, and a pill was pressed against her lips. “Come on, take this,” Regina muttered.

Joannie frowned. She hadn’t seen Regina leave. The fingers against her lips pressed down insistently. She opened her mouth for the pill and then hummed in surprise when the fingers were replaced by the rim of the glass. Water; deliciously cool water. She chugged it all in one go.

“There you are,” Regina murmured. “Alright? Now don’t die on me. If you die I’ll kill you.”

Joannie rolled her eyes in the darkness. Between the cloth and the water she already felt better, though the thought of standing made her head pound. “Get out of my house or I’ll kill _you,_ ” she said, or tried to say, but all that came out was a low whimper.

Regina grimaced. “That’s what I thought,” she murmured. She traced a palm along Joannie’s cheek. “Look, I’ll—I can’t stick around, okay? Just please, _please_ be okay.”

Joannie sighed and shut her eyes, frustrated. When she opened them it was morning.

The cloth on her forehead had dried out and fallen behind the mattress. She could tell just from the too-hot blankets that her fever had broken during the night.

She huffed to herself, standing and wandering to the bathroom to rinse her mouth out. She poked her head into her father’s office as she went. The revolver was still on the floor, the window still cracked open and letting in a chill.

It wasn’t a dream, then.

She wandered down the stairs to the front door to retrieve the paper. It was there, just as it always was, right on her doorstep. Beside it was a still-steaming cast iron pot of chicken soup.

She saw them in the corners of her eyes constantly. It didn’t come with the feeling of being watched, and she was well aware that the reason was because she always saw them first—almost always, anyway. There was the odd sight of blond hair disappearing around a corner, or an elegant figure turning away from her a bit too quickly for it to be a coincidence. She could only be sure of the times she caught them. She would never know how many times she didn’t.

Even more often were the times she saw them first, though. She spotted Regina in a window high above Oxford street, and when she looked again the thief was gone. She found Freddie through the window of a jewelry store, completely by happenstance, and by the time she managed to push her way through the crowded street and burst through the door, an insult ready on her lips, the cashier was already loudly wondering where his customer had disappeared to so quickly. 

More often than not she spotted them before they could spot her, and it was no surprise. Joannie had gotten better at blending into the walls. She got better at it every day, and sometimes she wondered when she would disappear entirely. She traced her fingertips along the wall of the hallway on the way to her bedroom every time she walked that path, waiting to see if that would be the day it would suck her in for good. It never did. 

That’s why it came as such a surprise when she received a marriage proposal. 

Ernest Young was one of her father’s favorite lieutenants. He was tall, meticulously lawful and overall perfectly boring; he was ten years her senior and easily a head taller than her, which didn’t go unnoticed when he arrived at her father’s house for a luncheon; the disappointment in his eyes when he looked at her for the first time didn’t go unnoticed either, but then she was sure the same expression was mirrored on her own face. 

The proposal was entirely unnoteworthy. He gave her a ring, which she liked to take off and keep in her pocket when she was alone. Her father gave Ernest his promise to buy a space in the paper for an announcement. As Ernest left Julian grimaced at her from across the table. 

“Him?” He whispered, his nose scrunched. 

Joannie traced the ring on her finger. It sat oddly, and her skin itched beneath it. “He’s perfectly acceptable,” she said dully, repeating the same phrase her mother had practically chanted before the man’s arrival. 

“He’s ghastly. He’s practically ancient, as well.” 

Joannie just rolled her eyes. She pushed her chair back from the table before hurrying up the stairs. She didn’t know how to explain to him why that hurt so much. She didn’t know how to say why on top of all of her other lost opportunities and freedoms, the fact that she couldn’t say an ill word against her fiancée for fear of making herself resent him even more felt like such a slap in the face; why the fact that her brother could do it so freely when he’d never feared for his own freedom a single day in his life just added insult to injury. 

She went to her room instead, yanking the ring off her finger and throwing it to the carpeted floor. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and held it against her scalp for a long minute, gathering her breath and staring out the window. She didn’t know what she was looking for out there, but whatever it was she couldn’t find it.

And then, about a month later, she met Brianna. 

It had barely lasted a moment. She’d barely spoken to her for a moment, and then all at once Joannie had been standing there with her arm chained to the rail, watching Freddie, Regina and their new friend drive off into the morning light, her lips still tingling from the way Regina’s had felt against them. The tail lights rounded a corner and disappeared, and Joannie was left utterly alone.

She practically rubbed her wrist raw trying to get it out of the damned cuff.

Anger had blinded her first. She felt like nothing more than a dog chained to a fence and told to stay. It had her barring her teeth and practically frothing at the mouth, yanking on the rail even as the metal dug into her skin. She wished she could wrench her arm free, snap the chain with the force of it and take off running after them. For what purpose, she didn’t know. She didn’t know whether she wanted to strangle them or jump into the car and beg them to take her, too.

Then the anger faded, and she got smart about it.

She hadn’t brought a key. She’d been riding on getting the thing closed around Regina’s wrist and bringing her in; had taken the choice of releasing her out of her own hands, knowing she couldn’t trust herself with it. Even so, she knew how to pick locks, though she wasn’t very practiced at it. The pin in her hair was plucked out with her opposite hand and jammed into the little key slot. She twisted and nudged and felt around for the tumblers, her fingers shaking with nerves and anger and fear the whole time.

She really almost had it. She was so close. That was when the squad car rolled into the garage.

“Joannie?”

She didn’t bother looking up.

The engine shut off, the door slamming shut, and then footsteps were running toward her. She could feel the lock beginning to give. It was almost there—almost—

“Joannie, shit. Are you alright?”

“Shut it,” she hissed. She twisted _hard_ and jerked her wrist, and the damn thing finally popped open.

“Are you okay? God, your wrist. Let me—”

“I said shut up!” she snapped, holding her wrist protectively close to her body. No doubt it was getting blood on her best church dress. She hardly cared.

“I’m on your side,” he snapped right back.

She glared up at him. He didn’t budge, matching her glare with his own. Well, almost. He couldn’t quite pull it off. The roundness of his eyes always made him look too sweet.

“I’ve got bandages in the car,” he said, his mouth still downturned at the corners. “Come on. It’s better than letting your dad see.”

“So you’re not gonna tell him?” she asked skeptically.

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Are _you?_ ”

She huffed, feeling like a scolded child as he turned his back on her and walked toward the car. “I had them, Ronnie,” she told him, dragging her feet as she followed.

“Yeah? It sounds like they had you.”

“I’m serious. They were right here.” She sat on the edge of his bumper, her mind churning. He unlocked the back door and leaned through, rifling around for something under the driver’s seat. “It was Regina. I don’t know how they missed her. She was barely wearing a disguise. I don’t think she was even armed. How do they always miss her?”

“I don’t know, Joan,” he sighed.

“She stands out in a crowd,” she continued. “She’s not hard to spot.”

“Maybe it’s just easy for _you_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He huffed, emerging from the backseat with a roll of gauze in hand. “I mean that maybe you find her so easily because you’re always keeping an eye out for her.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped. She glared at him harshly, and a moment later he held up his hands as if to avoid startling her. “I don’t know, okay? But you can hardly deny that you have this—this fixation on the case—”

“Fixation?! You think _I_ have a—”

“—And it’s not healthy!” he finished. “Joannie, you have to know that it’s not healthy. Regina Taylor is a dangerous woman. She held eighteen people at gunpoint this morning, she took a young woman hostage, she and her accomplice are wanted for the murder of two men out in Cheshire—”

“That wasn’t them,” Joannie argued. “You know it wasn’t. The MO was all wrong. They’ve never used a Winchester rifle before, let alone killed anyone, and you—”

“So now you’re stealing case files, on top of everything else.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you people would do your damned jobs!” she practically shouted.

He held her glare, barely managing to hide his hurt behind a glower of his own, and it only took a few seconds for her to look away in defeat. He’d always had that effect on her; he’s one of the only ones that does. Despite her own resentment she doesn’t like hurting him.

She heard more than saw him walk closer slowly, sitting beside her on the bumper and hooking two gentle fingers around the inside of her wrist. She let him; let him lift her arm carefully into his lap and go about treating the wound.

“I just want you to be safe,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I—it’s hard for me, okay? I feel like I can’t protect you.”

“You can’t,” she told him, her tone bland, and only felt slightly guilty when he flinched. “You can’t because I’m not yours to protect.”

“I know that,” he rushed to say. “I do, but—Joannie, will you please look at me?” She did, and her shoulders sagged when she noticed that his eyes were wet. “I don’t like the fact that they’re this interested in you. I don’t like that they go out of their way to talk to you. They’re _criminals_ and you don’t even know what they want.”

She pressed her lips together at that, looking down to watch him work. His hands were rough; they always had been, but they’ve always felt warm and comforting in her own.

She loved him in another life. She was absolutely certain of that fact down to the marrow in her bones. She wondered sometimes if she loved him in this life, too; if she could love him. The same surety never seemed to present itself.

“What if they wanted to offer me a way out?” she asked him, just above a murmur, and his eyes snapped to her own as his hands paused. “A new life, I mean. A future away from—from everything that’s expected of me, in a few months.”

“You can’t know that,” he started, his voice hushed, and she shook her head quickly.

“I mean what if they wanted to? Hypothetically speaking. Completely hypothetically.” She swallowed. “What if they offered me a chance to leave? To do something with my life?”

He shook his head.

“Ronnie,” she whispered. She turned her wrist over in his grip, tangling their fingers together and squeezing hard. “I can’t do it. You know I can’t. I want more from life than just that. It’s gonna kill me.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Tell me you want to see me marry him.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Tell me you want to see him and me build a family together.”

“Stop.”

“Tell me I’m—that I’m wife material. That I should settle down. That this is all I was made to do. Tell me I’m meant for motherhood and making dinner and all the—all that other _bullshit_ that you know I can't stand hearing.”

“No,” he breathed. “You can do so much more than that. You know that, Joannie.”

She inhaled sharply, her own eyes prickling. “Then tell me that you’re not the only one who sees that.”

He shook his head again, looking at her with something desperate written across his face. She squeezed his hand, and his lip trembled. “I can’t tell you that, either,” he whispered.

Her tears spilled over, and she let them—let them run down her cheeks, refused to acknowledge that they were even there by wiping them off. Ronnie took a few moments to collect himself, and his eyes were still red as he finished bandaging her wrist. He was still breathing raggedly by the time it was done, but he looked her in the eye anyway.

“I’d miss you like hell if you left,” he said as he finished, his voice rough.

“And if you had a chance to stop me?” she murmured.

He laughed wetly. “I’d close my damn eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen brain tired words no more words happy uhhhhh wednesday everyone!!! will be a part three eventually!!!!!! let me know if you like <3

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little thing that I cranked out in an afternoon. I had a lot of fun with it. Let me know if you liked it! I hope you all are well and enjoying your summers <3


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